


A Cat with Nine Lives

by DreamsUnwind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Eventual Sex, F/M, Malfoy Manor, POV Lucius Malfoy, dark at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-11 13:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsUnwind/pseuds/DreamsUnwind
Summary: During the skirmish at Malfoy Manor, Hermione is left behind. The Dark Lord instructs Lucius Malfoy to keep her his prisoner; a role that he wishes he did not have to fulfill, giving that his Death Eater beliefs mean less to him than ever. Can Lucius work with Severus to keep Hermione safe in the midst of danger? Can feelings develop between Mudblood and Pureblood?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> Welcome, readers! This story is another inspired by the "what if Hermione was left behind at Malfoy Manor during Deathly Hallows?" It centres around a slightly downtrodden Lucius Malfoy, who has had enough of being a Death Eater, and our dear Hermione Granger who is thrust in a situation she's not prepared for. 
> 
> A bumpy ride will ensue, so hold and tight and enjoy reading!
> 
> Would love to hear your comments, constructive criticism, thoughts and suggestions!

 

**_A Cat with Nine Lives_ **

I am the luckiest man in the world, or more accurately, the luckiest Death Eater in the world. A cat with nine lives, having managed to escape, ah, shall we say  _certain death,_  on many occasions. Others have not been gifted with such luck. It would be a lie to say I feel any sort of remorse for them. They knew what came with the title.

Severus, on the other hand, also has nine lives, it seems – or sometimes I'm sure he's got even more. That devious bastard gets away with anything, I swear. He's been the bearer of bad news to the Dark Lord on several occasions, yet I do not recall a time where he has found himself chained up to the wall of his own dungeon.

Unlike Severus, I have lost six of nine lives already. I am now forty-five with three more to go and I do not intend to waste them as dextrously as I may have previously.

I squandered number five of nine when I, unfavourably, was knocked unconscious by a stunning spell during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries and woke up in an unbearably unhygienic cell, surrounded by a number of wands trained upon my person. I suppose I should be thankful that I retained any happy memories, since the Dementors had been replaced with real, living guards by then.

I lost another when I was asked, oh-so benignly, by my Master to give up my wand. He spewed some Hippogriff shite about his and Potter's wand sharing the same cores, subsequently allowing neither to kill the other outright, and so I handed it over with my hands shaking for good measure, and watched as he used it like it was an extension of his own body.

Bastard.

Bloody, fucking, inhuman  _bastard_.

My Lord's remorseless decision to take my wand was like losing a part of me. No pun intended.

Severus plays the Dark Lord like a fine tuned instrument. But, of course, we all know where Severus' true allegiance lies. Now there are several reasons why I would love to tell Voldemort that his most loyal follower is no more a Death Eater than a house elf.

The main reason why I have not, however, is that I would rather eat pigeon shit than see the Dark Lord ruling over the Wizarding World.

I suppose you weren't quite expecting that to be my stance on things?

Well, having spent my entire childhood listening to Pureblood drivel and being led to believe that killing Mudbloods and Muggles is as normal as it gets for someone of such a prestigious heritage, it came as quite a surprise to find that, in fact, I hated killing. Killing a person is not all it's cracked up to be, believe me. Voldemort forget to put that in the small print when I signed up to be a Death Eater. Not having this ability disposes of the aptitude to kill ruthlessly and so I live a false life of debauchery and depravity.

Who would think it, eh? Certainly not an eighteen year old Lucius Malfoy, eager to follow his father's footsteps in becoming a Death Eater!

With these thoughts whirring inside me, I find myself staring into vehement flames of the fire, downing a glass of Ogden's Finest and counting down to the possibility of a final battle. With any luck it will happen sooner rather than later.

My hair is a mess; I've God knows how many days' worth of stubble; and I smell like an accident in the boy's Quidditch changing rooms, and yet here I sit, drinking away my own sorrow. My Father would be turning in his grave. Good thing I took down his portrait months ago.

Could I tell you, right now, that I'm proud of my life? Probably not. I regret joining this madman's club and not having the audacity to  _at least_  try to think up a plan to leave it.

"Father?" Ah, here's Draco. He seems to be the only thing I've left to be proud of. Unlike those asinine, dunderheaded fools he calls friends (known to most as Crabbe and Goyle), Draco is rather more reluctant to doing the bidding of Voldemort.

That's where my son and I differ. I may not  _enjoy_  the work I do, but I do it to  _survive_.

I swallow the bitterness of the whisky. "Yes, Draco?"

My son gulps hard and I know it's difficult for him to get the words out. I don't blame him for it. I rarely speak to anyone these days. When one's home is under the scrutiny and control of a Dark Lord, one cannot be sure of who might be listening in on things you don't want others hearing. Silence is safe… sort of.

"There's been a message from a group of Snatchers. Aunt Bellatrix has gone to find them. They said they've captured someone important."

It will not be anyone of use then, merely a waste of our time. And time is something I doubt many of us in this household have left. And let me not forget to mention that the mental capacity of any Snatcher is the size of a Knut. When they capture a person it is not because they think they will undeniably be of use to the Death Eaters, no, this is not how the Snatchers work. Rather, it is because they see their captive as a big sack of galleons.

They'll capture anyone for money. I find it quite sickening.

I trace my eyes around the rim of my crystalline glass, unwilling to let my son see the almost defeat in my eyes that are so like his. "Is my presence absolutely required?"  _Because why would I want to go if I'm not really needed?_

"Please, Father."

I cannot ignore the pity in his voice. If this was any other time I would, most certainly, penalise him for it. But as it is, I can't be picky about such.

I pull myself up, feeling the full extent of twenty-seven years of service to the Dark Lord as the ache in my joints and bones seems to have also seeped into my tender muscles. Another drawback of the Death Eater lifestyle. These days I'm not quite as supple as I once was at.

I make my way to my entrance hall in steady pace, avoiding the eyes of the generations of Malfoy relatives who adorn the walls in their portraits. How easy it is for them to get lost in their own painted version of this world, to be able to get lost in conversation with other portraits nearby without having to think about the ins and outs of life. I dare say I almost envy them for it.

Damn my supposed nine lives. Perhaps the sooner they're all up the better?

A door shuts behind me and I realise that Draco is not by my side, in fact he's a few yards behind me, no doubt treading in my exact footsteps, afraid of any booby-traps the Dark Lord may have set. How tragic it is for one to fear death in their own home.

My ears pick up the murmur of voices. It's almost a refreshing change to be able to hear voices other than those I hear daily.

"…found 'em in the woods," someone says, who I presume to be the leader of this particular group of Snatchers. He sniffs the air in a most repugnant manner and continues, "They tried to get away from us. Didn't work though, did it?"

It would seem that he is rather taken with the young girl he has caged in his arms, as he leans his head down to inhale the pale skin of her neck, where her jacket lays slightly open and exposes her flesh. Her face, however, appears to me in the shadow of another Snatcher standing in front, so that I cannot see her fully.

The red head on the left, though, undeniably belongs to the Weasley clan.

Another Snatcher I know to be Fenrir Greyback (of  _all_  the possible Snatchers, it has to be this ghastly being) pushes his way through the crowd that seems to have assembled, and dumps what looks to be a swollen sack of flesh onto my floor.

I am presented with a boy, most likely around the same age as Draco, although his fat and puffy face means he could possibly be mistaken for someone far older. A Stinging Jinx. Either that or this boy has a severe allergy to something in the woods. His hands have been crudely tied with a piece of rope and his dark hair sticks to his head with perspiration. Though his hair covers most of his forehead, there's a small patch that isn't and I can see the shiny, swollen outline of a red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

_Fuck._

Harry Potter is in my house. The long awaited and anticipated battle may come sooner than I thought.

_Fuck._

Harry Potter's end may also come sooner than most anticipated. And that, I'm certain, will consequently also be my own demise.

_Fuck._

This situation is not entirely preferable.

"Draco, you must look closely!" Bellatrix whispers fervently, guiding Draco closer to the swollen figure on the floor. "Is it him? Is it Harry Potter?"

_Fuck._  Bellatrix has put two and two together. Being one of Voldemort's highest ranking Death Eaters (and let me say that that is no task for an inane individual, Bellatrix's madness, on the other hand, is an entirely different topic) she was bound to sooner or later.

I concentrate on Draco as he takes in the being before him. I've no doubt he knows it's Potter. Fortunately, he's rather more sensible about it than I imagine any other Death Eater would be.

"I can't be sure," he speaks in an almost gentle tone, and turns away from Potter and to Bellatrix. "His face is too messed up to tell."

"Yes, what exactly did happen to his face?"

I've no doubts Potter has been hit by a Hex of some sort. Of course the Snatcher is none the wiser.

"He came to us like that, something he picked up in the forest I reckon."

A blinding flash of silver enters my peripheral vision, and, angling my head, I see the mighty looking sword sticking out of a bag Greyback is holding.

I may be a Slytherin but I know too well just  _what_  sword that is. The sword of Gryffindor is in  _my_  house and yet I plan to just stand here and act like I've seen nothing.

Let us hope that Bellatrix does not see it. Currently, that sword is supposed to be residing quietly in her vault, I believe, which leads to the obvious question of how the Golden Trio have managed to come across it?

When my sister-in-law turns around and sees just what is poking out of the werewolf's bag, her eyes go wide for a moment and then I find that everything is happening too quickly; Potter and Weasley are dragged to reside in my dungeons for the time being, while the mystery girl who I was unable to identify earlier on is roughly thrown onto the floor.

But I see her now, oh yes, I see her.

_Hermione Granger._

Her limbs are spread wide, hands and nails digging anxiously into the floorboards, and I notice how thin and pale they are, childlike in their fragility. Her hair is bedraggled (it surprises me to see it is far worse than before) and her clothes are askew, ripped and stained in places.

"Now," says Bellatrix in that childlike tone of hers that I do so hate, "let's see what this  _itty bitty_  Mudblood has to say about this!" She points to sword.

The Mudblood pales. I almost feel sorry for her.

Her first question comes rather calmly, "Where did you get it?"

Hermione Granger looks to be in tears already. "W-we found it."

"Just came across it in the forest, did you?" Bellatrix cackles when the girl does not answer. "I thought as much."

The air is tense but silent.

Then, " _CRUCIO!_ "

And the girl begins to scream – the first of what will be many screams tonight.

I tip the whisky down my throat in hope that drowning my insides with expensive alcohol will drown out the echoes of her screams and Bellatrix's unnecessary shouting.

It works for neither.

"WHERE DID YOU GET THE SWORD FROM, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD BITCH? IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN MY VAULT AT GRINGOTTS!"

She is on top of the Mudblood now, her tangle of raven black frizz she calls hair falling across the girls face, blocking her face from my view.

"P-please," she pleads, "please, it's a fake. It's not real. We haven't been anywhere near your v-vault.  _Honestly!_ "

" _Tell. Me. The. Truth._ "

"I'm – I'm not lying. Please, don't h-hurt me. I'm telling the truth, I s-swear…"

Another scream blasts through my ears.

Then another.

And another.

_Another_

_Another_

_Another._

God, but this is never-ending!

Next to me, Draco has both hands pressed against his own ears, muffling the sound. On the floor, however, Bellatrix has now taken out her prized knife and the Mudblood's sleeve has been pushed up to reveal creamy, unmarred skin.

In what could possibly be a moving moment, although to me it's just something that shouldn't happen, Hermione Granger's tear stained eyes fall upon my own. She hiccups a sob and I can see  _into_  her; her pain, anger, hatred, and all other emotions pour into her soft brown eyes for me to look at freely.

My god, she is as pure as they come.

At this moment, the knife is pressed down onto her arm and her eyes go blank for a moment, before a hoarse, jagged scream leaves from that perfectly formed mouth – the worst one yet.

Still hearing her screams, still  _feeling_  them travel through my body in waves of something that feels similar to sympathy. Somewhere in the midst of things, Bellatrix screeches at me to call for the Dark Lord.

_Oh God, do I really have to?_

I pull up my sleeve up to expose my god awful Dark Mark and signal him.

I wait.

Everyone waits for his dreaded arrival.

We wait in silence.

I close my eyes and wait for it to be over; little hazy red flashes beneath my eyelids.

And then I hear the voices of others. I know instantly that the voices I'm hearing belong to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, and I'm even thankful to hear them.

Now I hear more shouting, no,  _screaming_ , and a lot of curses zooming in the air above.

One hits me square in the chest. I fly back into the wall behind me.

Then things turn black.

* * *

I'm absolutely, positively, certain that I have died and woken up in Hell. Currently the world is deathly black and I'm finding it impossible to collect my thoughts through the screaming that's echoing in my head.

Lord knows I'm too old to be doing this. I'm a man in his mid-forties; mentally I am sound (something any Death Eater should be proud of after nearly three decades of service), but to say my body can cope with the exertion of being thrown through the air at this age would be a lie. I am tired, physically drained of my youthful zeal and heedlessness.

Or perhaps I shouldn't pride myself in my sanity because I can still hear the screaming. It sounds so inhumane, so animalistic, almost like… a  _girl?_  Oh yes, I remember Harry Potter and his cronies being in my house, but they escaped did they not?

Oh Merlin, no…

It appears the Granger girl has managed to get herself captured by the Dark side. And I seem to recall Severus (not to forget Draco on so many occasions) telling me how she was the so-called 'Brightest Witch of her age'.

As she gives another bout of screams I open my eyes and am offered a view of the girl writhing in utmost pain. I take in her condition; one black eye; a bleeding nose and split lip; 'MUDBLOOD' carved into her milky white arm.  _Bella, you depraved hag._

Without further examination I am unable to fully discover the full extent of her injuries. I can only hope that they have not been brazen enough to rape the girl. Fortunately her clothing appears to be in order. A slightly positive sign and I can only anticipate that Fenrir Greyback is long gone from my residence.

I have no doubt, however, that Hermione Granger's ordeal has only just started.

My Lord will be none too pleased that Potter escaped. The fact that the Mudblood is in our hands may ebb his immediate fury, but I'm sure he'll find her to be of little use after just a few days, when her mind and body will be broken with the wrath of… well,  _wrath_.

I had thought that Voldemort would be utterly manic and wrathful towards me, as it was I who summoned him here in hope that we'd have a freshly captured Harry Potter for him to make valuable use of.

After only two rounds of  _Cruciatus,_ (I've had more severe punishments for doing much less beforehand, I can't help but fear what more is to come), he withdraws his wand away from me and begins to smile maliciously.

I don't like that smile. Not one bit.

His eyes take on an even more unhuman appearance than normal.

"Your punishment, Lucius, is to take care of the Mudblood whilst she's in our hands."

I gulp. " _Care_ , my Lord?"

"Yes, Lucius." Those sibilant consonants cut my ears like a knife. "This is your home, is it not? Therefore it is your duty to show the filthy Mudblood your  _hospitality_."

Great. Just absolutely  _fucking_  great. But surely there must be a catch to this?

"As you wish, my Lord." I answer, unwilling to ask anymore.

And it is with these final words that I walk over to the bloody mess of Hermione Granger, hoist her up enough so that it looks as though I'm dragging her cruelly, and take her away.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius has a discussion with Severus before paying a first visit to Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented and left Kudos so far! You seem to be enjoying it which means I've achieved what I set out do! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

The severity of this situation has not yet hit me. When it does, I’m sure it might feel something akin to the Cruciatus Curse. I have been on the receiving end of that curse more times than I care to remember recently. I’m sure you can begin to imagine how… _displeased_ the Dark Lord was after I was broken out of Azkaban. Oh yes, he was thrilled that I had managed to fuck up retrieving the prophecy so royally. I shall spare you the finer details of how he thanked me for it. Suffice to say, I lost control of conscious thought and feeling to such an extent that I also lost control of my bladder.

Oh, how my friends and colleagues laughed their arses off when the stench of my less- than hydrated urine permeated the dungeon cell in which I was being kept. If you’ve never done so yourself then you will be unaware of the slow warm burn and subsequent itching that occurs afterwards.

Yes, you did hear me correctly. I, Lucius Malfoy, pissed myself in front of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

After a couple more days chained up in that dank cell and an apology so forced I might have well kissed Voldemort’s arse, I was allowed back into society (so to speak). Of course, by then the Dark Lord had made himself more than at home in my Manor.

I am grateful, however, that my punishment did not extend much beyond pain, hunger, and total and utter humiliation. My family were spared, after all. I’m also grateful for the fact that I was not graced with food, for if I had I would surely have shit myself in front of the Dark Lord also.

That would have been extremely unfortunate.

Anyhow, I digress yet again. The severity of this situation is perhaps not actually akin to the Cruciatus Curse, given that I am unlikely to lose control over my bladder this time round.

The situation is still unfavourable, however.

_Fuck._

I’ve locked the girl in an unused bedroom in my own personal quarters. And I’ve locked myself in my study with half a bottle of whisky. If you were to ask me what number drink I’m currently nursing, I would not be able to tell you.

My God. What have I gotten myself into?

Rather, what has that snake-eyed bastard of a Dark Lord gotten me into? Is it not enough that he has taken over my home and my freedom?

It would seem not, apparently.

He’s really going to milk his anger with me for all it’s worth.

I feel hot, pure rage burning within me.

God knows I’m too old for this. _For any of this…_

For all I know the Dark Lord is currently planning Hermione Granger’s death, and has most likely written my own demise into that scenario. Perhaps it would be better if he just got shot of me? I’m old and tired and wandless. Hardly prime attributes of a Death Eater.

Fortunately this alcohol seems to be making a pretty good job of killing me. If the Dark Lord doesn’t kill me then perhaps alcohol poisoning is the way to go. I swallow down another mouthful; it burns my throat and warms my insides like nothing else.

And I simply do not care.

I would actually be content to sit here and drink myself to death right now.

But it appears that is not what I will be doing tonight, as three loud raps on the door force me up onto my feet, and I swing the door to my study open wide open.

Severus Snape strides into the room in a billow of black robes.

I cast a Silencing charm on the room. It is common sense to do so these days.

“Severus,” I drawl, ever so slightly drunk, “To what do I owe you this pleasure?”

The mocking charm in my voice goes unnoticed by my old friend, as his dark eyes do not falter and his mouth is set in a permanent thin line. Severus always did approach everything with nothing but seriousness. “The Dark Lord will no doubt have plans for her, Lucius. Likely to be nothing short of the foul, grotesque affairs we’ve seen happen to her kind before. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” I snap. I know all too well of the things that could happen to dear Hermione Granger.

He scans the room quickly. “And it seems that you’ve lost her already.”

I scowl. “I have not _lost_ her. I’ve locked her in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall. She’s of no use to me unconscious.”

I hear my old friend sigh. “It would be wise to keep a close eye on her. She’s a vital part in winning this war, Lucius, more so than you can imagine. I’ve seen her with Potter and Weasley. Without her they are a couple of dunderheaded fools, not capable of even a fraction of the magic that girl can perform.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure she is important, but that seems a little _wasted_ , shall we say, now that she’s managed to get herself captured, doesn’t it?” My incessant tone sweetly hides the fear of losing this war.

“She is still valuable, even whilst in your keeping.”

“ _How?_ ”

Severus straightens up. “I believe we could use her as a way of communicating with Potter and Weasley.”

The man is out of his mind. “Impossible! There is absolutely no bloody way of doing so. The connection is between Potter and the Dark Lord, not Potter and his Mudblood!”

“I’m not speaking of a link between their minds Lucius, but rather, a means of correspondence between them.  It might be possible to set up a connection between Miss Granger, and Potter and Weasley. It would be done in utter secrecy, of course.” He looks to me darkly. “Can you handle that?”

“Of course I can bloody well handle it!” _Can I though?_ “I just don’t see how such an action is possible, with the Dark Lord and our _colleagues_ only a hair’s breadth away at nearly all times! And what will happen to her when the Dark Lord decides to do god knows what to her? How am I to stop that from happening!?”

Severus lets me settle, knowing full well he’ll set me off in a drunken rage if he pushes me too far. After a few silent minutes, he speaks. “I believe it will be a while before the Dark Lord decides to dispose of her, she is far too valuable for the cause at the moment, especially with Potter and Weasley still out there.”

He has a point, I suppose. “What happened to those two anyway?” I finally snap.

Severus runs a pale hand through his dark hair. “Oh, those two idiots somehow managed to get out of here. I believe Bellatrix killed an elf in the process. Your former elf, I believe.”

My eyebrows rise in unintentional surprise. “Dobbie?” I suppose I should be raging over the fact that my former elf aided Harry Potter, and not for the first time either, I suspect. Instead, I can’t help but feel really, really, really _fucking glad_ that the ugly little bastard helped keep get Potter away from Voldemort’s clutches.

Christ knows what mess this world would be in had Harry Potter not escaped when he did...

To the surprise of myself and Severus, I let out a loud burst of hysterical laughter. It’s been a long time since I’ve found anything so funny, and I’m not sure if I’m laughing because of the alcohol or because we were _this_ close to being _utterly fucked._

Severus interrupts my fit of laughing. “You might wish to go easy on the drinking, my friend. You will be a vital part in this.”

My laughter dies down instantly. “Me?” I hiss. “How the in Merlin’s name is a wandless wizard” – I gesture towards myself – “supposed to help?”

“You have a wand, you fool,” he tuts.

“Yes, but it’s not the same as the other. It doesn’t respond so well.”

“Well it is better than nothing, Lucius. And you’d best get used to using it. You’ll need it to keep Granger alive. A difficult feat, I grant you, giving that she is here in a place that is currently occupied by the Dark Lord and his followers.”  

There’s a lot balancing on my shoulders right now. I really could do without the added weight of Hermione Granger pulling me down, but desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.

“So,” I say, “what do you suggest that I do?”

Severus’ face lights up into a dark smile. “I’d have thought that you’re more than capable of working that one out by yourself.” He’s silent as he sweeps towards the door in a billow of black robes. I can see why the Dark Lord admires this man so.

When he gets halfway out of the room he turns back to me.

“You must make sure she’s kept alive.” The tone is callous. “If you mess this up it isn’t just her life that comes to an end, it’s the entire Wizarding World.”

_Great_. All the pressure in the world is on me.

* * *

After Severus departs I see to making myself a bit more presentable.

Why do I care what I look like in front of a Mudblood, you ask?

I do not care, but it’s about time I get my shit together and make myself look like something more than a useless alcoholic.

I run a brush through my hair quickly and fix it at the nape of my neck with a black velveteen bow; perform a quick shaving charm to my stubble; and put on a fresh shirt. I could really do with a bath but that will have to wait until later.

I make the quick journey to the bedroom that currently houses Hermione Granger.

Opening the door, I scan the room briefly but there appears to be no trace of her.

_Severus was right; I’ve already bloody lost her!_

But then I spy a tangled nest of hair peeking out from under the bed. Did she really think I wouldn’t see her with that unruly mane of hers giving her away?

I let out an irritated sigh. “Come out from under the bed, Miss Granger. I’d rather not have to get down on the floor and drag you out.” And I really would prefer not to, my body kills from being flung halfway across the room previously, that I’m sure I won’t get back up from the floor if I get onto my knees.

Her voice wavers with the remnants of tears. “I-I won’t come out!”

Unconsciously, my left eyebrow twitches upwards and my lips form a slight smirk – a Malfoy trademark. “Oh, really?”

“You can’t make me!” She lets out a squeak and another sound that’s something like a hiccup. It takes me a few moments to realise she is sobbing – if I had known before that she would be this emotionally unstable I would have begged the Dark Lord not to make me look after her. I can’t be dealing with a hormonal teenager on top of everything else.

I roll my eyes then arc my head slightly to get a better view without straining my neck too much. “Are you going to be sensible and come out, or do you feel like testing my patience, girl?”

My words hang in the air for a few minutes.

But then eventually two bare feet poke out from beneath the bed, followed by thin, pale legs, a body, and, finally, a head of bushy hair. Her face is a blotchy mass of red; puffy eyes and lips, swollen nose. I can’t tell whether it’s from her torture beforehand or her pathetic crying, but I would place a bet on the former.

“Hello, Miss Granger.” I say darkly.

Her bottom lip quivers. _Ah, so I have not lost my touch then._

Suddenly, however, she lashes out at me and her right hand swipes out, connecting with my left cheek. A sharp ‘slap’ rings through the entire room.

I take an exasperated step backwards.

Did she just fucking slap me?

The sudden stinging warmth of my cheek is enough to tell otherwise.

_The Mudblood bitch slapped me! Why, I ought to teach her a lesson on who’s in charge here…_

“You little bitch, if you think you’re going to get away with that!” I spit out. Unfortunately, it appears I am still so shocked from the fact that I just got slapped by a girl young enough to be my daughter that all that actually comes out of my mouth is a less than impressive, “You little - ”

Instead I direct a look of pure unadulterated anger towards her, and step back towards her small form.

And this time it’s Hermione Granger who steps, _no_ , jumps backwards.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt me, I can’t take on more, please, please, please…” A string of pathetic, words leave her mouth and her knees begin to buckle.

Incredibly, I find myself reaching forward and gripping her by her shoulders to prevent her from falling.

What am I _doing?_

The girl shakes in my arms. Tears run into the wounds on her face, snot dribbling onto her upper lip. She is pitiful in this moment, and I know that a quick slap around _her_ face would snap her out of her deplorable crying. Except I can’t bring myself to do that. In my head it’s because causing her further harm isn’t the obvious way to gain her trust, but I’d be lying if I told you that was the only reason I do not wish to cause her further harm.

I take in the sight of the young, bedraggled girl before me. And what a sight for sore eyes she is. There is a red slice down one of her cheeks that still oozes fresh blood. Another cut on her lower lip, giving them a plump appearance. Purplish welts and bruises pepper her arms and collarbone, visible only due to the tear in the neck of her jumper.

Her glassy, chocolatey eyes meet my own and it’s then that I remember those eyes silently pleading with me to help her when she was sprawled on my drawing room floor.

_Those eyes…_

_They are something else…_

I pull my gaze away from her eyes.

My eyes travel lower, finally reaching her arm.

_‘MUDBLOOD’_ in ragged gashes mars the smooth skin of her forearm.

My throat constricts a fraction.

_Bella, you evil bitch._

No wonder she screamed so…

The girls realises that I am staring at her arm and attempts to bring down her jumper sleeve over the damn thing. Except that only causes more pain to shoot through her so she abandons her attempt to shield it from me.

She is very much ashamed of it, I can tell that much.

I feel a lump form in my throat.

_Good God, am I starting to feel sorry for her?_

Certainly not.

The girl continues in her hysterics once more and now I find my voice rising, “For goodness sake, I am not going to hurt you!” I can’t help but shake her for good measure.

I did not mean to raise my voice quite that loudly but it seems to have done the trick because she’s silent now. Stiff in my arms, she raises her eyes to my face.

I finally let go of her, aware that I was holding onto her for longer than I originally intended to, and gesture to a couple of chairs over by the fire. She takes the cue and goes and sits down in one. I take the other and pull it up closer to her. Not too close, but enough to intimidate her, for sure.

With a wave of my hand I have conjured the bottle of whisky I’d previously been drinking – to drown my sorrows – and two glasses.

One for myself and one for Hermione Granger. Even the notion of pouring a drink for her is crazy enough, let alone the fact that she and I will be getting to know one another quite well over the next few… days, weeks? I’m not quite sure.

I fill her glass to the half mark and hand it to her, a little forcefully, and I fill my own to the brim before taking a large gulp.

A trickle of amber escapes my mouth and I swipe at it with my tongue.

The girl is staring firmly into her lap, and I knew before even giving her the drink that she wouldn’t have any of it.

“It’s considered impolite not to imbibe when it’s been so kindly offered to you…” I drawl.

She takes a look at the glass before downing it in its entirety, grimacing at the taste. I must say, I’m actually rather impressed.

“I suppose we can cut out the introductions,” I begin, “you know I, and I know you, so to speak.”

Except in her eyes I am a cold, evil, ruthless, murderer, the Devil-reincarnated, Death Eater, blood supremacist, etcetera, etcetera… That wouldn’t be a wrong description, but neither is it the truth of who I am. “Think what you want about me but I do not wish to submit you to endless pain and torture whilst you are here.”

“Why should I believe you?”

I lean forward and refill her glass. “Do you think I’d be sharing my finest Firewhisky with you if I intended to torture you?” I scoff. “You’d vomit it straight back up the moment I utter even the beginning of a curse. It would be a complete waste of a fine drink!”

Hermione Granger actually smiles at me. A short-lived smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Jokes aside, if I had wanted to hurt you I would have laid more than a finger on you whilst you were indisposed as you were in my drawing room earlier. Given that I didn’t so much as look at you for longer than a few seconds, it is safe for you to assume that I will not harm you. I mean it, _I will not_.”

She swallows hard as she considers my point. I see her relax. Only a fraction, mind you.

It’s a start, however.

I change the tone of the conversation; “Now, there are a few things we must discuss. Firstly, there is the matter of your survival. You do want to survive this, I presume?”

I sense a sudden waver of panic come over her, and then she nods her head vigorously.

“Yes, I thought as much.” And I take another sip of my drink. “To survive you do exactly what I say.”

“That’s it?” she asks.

“It is as simple as that.”

She looks to fire; the watery tracks of tears reflect the roaring flames, and illuminate the bruising that is beginning to blossom beneath her cheeks. But then suddenly her eyes are back on me, wide and frightened.

“I-I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will, Miss Granger, but I know you have more intelligence in you than that. After all, it was your sharp mind that came up with the idea of using a Stinging jinx against your friend to conceal his identity. A shame it didn’t quite work…” I drawl. “But then again, I suppose it did work in a way. Harry Potter is still on the run. But here _you_ are.”

It appears I have hit a nerve with her.

Good.

I continue, “Anyhow, I should also like to strike a deal with you, Miss Granger.”

I can see her muddy brown eyes taking in my form; she is rather animal like in her observation of me, up and down her eyes travel on my person. She’s like an anxious doe, testing whether or not to step forward into my outstretched hands and take the offering.

“What kind of deal?”

“Like I said before, it is very simple. No magic involved. Just your word and my word.”

Her eyes flash; the black of her pupils swell briefly and engulf the chocolate brown. “What makes you think I should take your word for it?” she hisses. “What makes you suddenly trustworthy enough that I should confide in you? If you haven’t remembered, _Mr_ _Malfoy_ , you are a Death Eater, and Death Eaters do not make deals with their prisoners!”

I can see I’m going to have a difficult time in making her see that I am not the man she thinks I am. Then again, I suppose I knew she wouldn’t be too easy to handle. Damn Gryffindor’s and their infuriating courage. “Well, well, you’ve certainly come out of your shell quickly. But a minute ago you were snivelling in my arms like a frightened little girl.”

I’ve made her angry now. Well I suppose that’s better than the emotional wreck she was before. I breathe long and hard through my nose. “I had hoped you would be rather more pliant than this, Miss Granger.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Would you prefer ‘Mudblood’?”

“No, I just – I don’t want you to call me anything, I don’t want anything to do with you! If you’re going to kill me then just get on with it and cut the niceties!”

Why does everyone always assume the worst of me?

“I have no intentions of disposing of you,” I spit the words out rather forcefully, “Didn’t you hear me before? I want to increase your chances of survival, not diminish them!”

“Why?” she spits. “Why would you help me? You hate me and everything I stand for!”

“Given current circumstances, my old habits _have_ died hard.”

“What does that mean?”

“I am not the same man you last saw in the Department of Mysteries.”

“You’re saying that you’ve changed?”

“Perhaps I am saying just that.”

The Granger girl laughs, a little drunkenly sounding, but considering she’s only had one shot of whisky, I can’t really put it down to that.

“If there is one thing your son has taught me throughout our years at Hogwarts, it’s that Malfoy’s can’t be trusted.”

“What you presume to know about my family is only the tip of the iceberg, _Miss Granger_.”

She sits up higher in her chair. “I know that you all hate people like me. _Especially_ me.”

“I do not hate you, Miss Granger. At least not right at this moment.”

That seems to provoke quite a reaction from her and she is baffled enough to finally take another sip of the whisky. Raising her eyes from the glass, she is surprised to see that I am watching her intently.

“However,” I start, “let us not confuse not hating you for liking you. We’re not yet at that stage, Miss Granger.”

“Of course,” she says factually; seriously. “I wouldn’t want to actually think you were capable of such a feeling.”

I surprise myself by actually smiling at her answer. Not my customary smirk, but a genuine smile.

She seems to relax further now, going so far as to take another sip of her drink.

“I wouldn’t want you to think that either. How about we settle on just tolerating one another for the time being?” I say.

“I suppose I can agree to that.”

“Good.”

“So what exactly is it that you want me to agree to?”

“Your life and dignity in exchange for my own. Quid pro quo. I help you get through this ordeal with your mind, body and soul intact. All I ask is that when this sorry war is over, assuming your side is victorious, you see to it that my family and I are not dragged down.”

“I-I I don’t understand… you want You-Know-Who to win, don’t you?”

“Let’s just say, I am not exactly in the Dark Lord’s favour right now. Suffice to say I am not in favour of him either.”

She ponders over my request, no doubt wondering what my ulterior motive is. I can honestly say that I don’t have one.

Miss Granger opens her mouth to speak again, “Have you considered what will happen to our ‘deal’ if _your_ side is victorious.”

_No, truth be told, I have not. Because that is not a world I even want to consider living in._ But instead of muttering my thoughts I simply smirk and state, “You would doubt that your own side would not win this war?”

“I know that if they don’t my life will be over in an instant.” Her eyes go glassy at the thought. Again, I almost feel sorry for her.

I cast a serious expression over my face, “We shall see.” And with that I drain my glass.

I’ll leave her to ponder further for now.

I stand up and begin to walk out of the room.

“There is a bathroom just through that door, Miss Granger.” I point in the direction of the en-suite.  “Fresh clothes are in the drawers, and supper will be provided by the house elves later this evening. Goodbye for now.”

And with that, I retreat from the room, leaving a dismayed Hermione Granger to her own devices.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Severus further discuss how they can try to keep Hermione safe. When Lucius goes to see his prisoner, however, a small part of his former self reappears and causes further friction between them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this update! I'm not super pleased with this one but I'm hoping that the next chapter I'm currently writing will make up for this one. In this chapter Lucius comes across as a bit of a dick at one point. I'm not intending for him to be like this all the time by any means, but he is a grey character after all and so there is still a lot of darkness in him.
> 
> I would love to hear what you guys think of the story so far!

 

* * *

The next evening I find myself in my study once again, (after a much needed and deserved bath, of course); glass of whisky in one hand, my replacement wand in the other.

I remember my first sip of Firewhisky at the age of eleven. At that age, a mere whelp of a boy, the ingenuity of alcohol eluded me to such an extent that I could not fathom for the life of me why my father retired to his study each evening to give himself to this drink. So, at the naive age of eleven, I snuck into his study one dreary afternoon, set on tasting that golden libation. One drop reached my tongue before an unseen hand from behind snatched the bottle away from my innocent lips.

Of course, my father has been entirely aware that I had entered his study. The severity of his punishment ensued that I did not so much as even look at a bottle of Firewhisky until shortly after he died.

These days I am unashamed of how I lose myself in the amber depth of my favourite drink on an almost daily basis. It often helps me to think more clearly (after the first couple of glasses of course, much more than that and I am entirely unable to think at all…). Despite this, I am currently on my third glass and none the wiser in coming up with any reasonable strategy to help Hermione Granger.

The alcohol hasn’t yet drowned out Severus’ words that are on repeat in my head like a damn cockatiel; _“You’ll need to keep Granger alive. A difficult feat, I grant you, giving that she is here in a place that is currently occupied by the Dark Lord and his followers.”_

_A difficult to feat?_ More like damn near impossible!

The first thing is to keep her away from prying eyes, which I have already fulfilled by locking her up in a disused bedroom in my quarters. Thankfully, only those of Malfoy blood may come freely into my quarters, and, of course, those I choose to invite. And I certainly don’t plan on inviting any of my colleague’s to access my personal belongings any time soon. Not that Miss Granger is my belonging.

_Or is she now?_

How can I stop others from hurting her if that is what the Dark Lord orders them – _or me_ – to do? I cannot.

The inevitable is really out of my control. Eventually she will be of no more use to us…

There is a horrible gnawing in my gut at the thought of that.

My God, is that… _pity_ I feel?

I cannot be pitying a Mudblood, surely? Not just any Mudblood either, but the one who bested Draco at everything during their time at Hogwarts. All that Draco has told me about Miss Granger over the years is absolutely meaningless to me now.

Not now that I’ve seen such pure innocence and vulnerability in those eyes of hers…

He never mentioned her eyes before.

The image of her sprawled across the floor, pleading into my soul with those dark brown orbs of hers… I would be lying if I said that they haven’t affected me. And I would be lying to you further if I told you that I hadn’t thought about her whilst I was taking my bath this evening.

It came as a surprise to myself, as well. Quite naturally one was imaging the touch of a woman, a woman who started as a generic figure of my imagination and before the tub was even half way full this generic woman had amalgamated into a young woman with a head of bushy hair and chocolate brown eyes. I confess I was lost in my reverie for a good while before it came crashing to an unsatisfactory end after realising that Hermione Granger had popped into my subconscious.

I’m sure you can imagine my surprise, for I leapt straight out of the bath and doused myself in a cold shower to, ah, shall we say, _cool me off_.

A prisoner is not worth thinking about at all, let alone in that… _unsavoury_ manner.

Hermione Granger, _my_ prisoner.

Prisoner? I half grimace and half laugh at the expression. In normal circumstances (well, perhaps, un-normal circumstances) to have a prisoner locked up in a bedroom would put you on par with a ruthless madman. In my case, I feel like my position is rather less than that.

I have not been to see her since last night. _Except in my mind…_

I wonder what she’s doing at this very moment?

She’s most likely still blubbering away.

Should I go and check upon her? Make sure that she’s still breathing? Would she consider trying to end her own life in order to escape from here? Desperate times do call for desperate measures, I suppose. And who knows how desperate Hermione Granger is at this moment?

I doubt it though. Somehow, I think she’s far to Gryffindor to try such a thing.

Did I remember to feed her this morning? Ah, yes, I ordered the house elves to provide her with three meals a day. It’s preposterous that she should get more to eat than even I’ve had today. But I suppose I can’t blame the fact that I choose to substitute food for alcohol on poor Miss Granger.

My thoughts of the Granger girl are interrupted by a whoosh and a roar of green flames at the fire place. I lazily turn my head in the direction and see Severus step into the room.

Like before, I cast a silencing charm on the room.

“I have news.” _Nice to see you too, dear friend._ “The Order informs me that Potter and Weasley went to Ronald’s brother and sister-in-law’s house on the outskirts of Tinworth after escaping from here yesterday. They report that they are both lacking the will to continue their mission to defeat the Dark Lord now that their friend has been captured...”

“Of course they have…” I say sarcastically.

“For all they know she is dead, Lucius. I believe if we can get a message to them from Miss Granger that tells them that she is safe, it may just provide them with enough encouragement to continue. If they don’t get off their arses soon they are about as much use to us in winning this war as a chocolate teapot.”

Pathetic they are. They lose the strongest link in their chain and the entire thing breaks. How the future of the Wizarding World is pinned on those two idiots is beyond me?

I sigh.  “That’s all very well, Severus, but will they not automatically assume that we Death Eaters have forced her hand to write such a letter?”

Severus’s lips are a thin line of pure concentration. He steps forward and takes a seat in the chair opposite my own. “Naturally I’ve considered how receiving a letter from their dear friend in the midst of their enemy may appear to those two dunderheads.” Severus can always be relied upon to thoroughly consider all options. I’m sure that must be why the Dark Lord values his input so greatly. “That said, I believe the best way to make sure they are convinced she is actually safe is to accompany it with a recent memory.”

I nod my head in agreement. “Very well, Severus.”

At that Severus takes a seat in one of my finest Dragon Leather chesterfield armchairs, summoning himself a glass of my whisky. “You look exhausted, my friend,” he comments with a smirk.

“This business with Granger will probably finish me off, you do understand.” I drawl sarcastically and Severus smirks again. 

“Her _and_ the drinking. How is the girl, anyway?”

“Thrilled about being here, of course! I have completely downplayed to her just how much danger she is in. I told her I will protect her and asked for her trust, but I know damn well that I can’t truly protect her.”

My words hang in the air between us and neither of us speaks for a good few minutes before I pipe up again. “The thing you have not considered, Severus, is that our Lord has a special connection with Potter. Will he not utilise that to get through to Potter and try and lure Potter and Weasley to come and capture her?”

The fire cracks in the silence that follows my question.

I can practically see the cogs turning inside Severus’s head. “I’d say that’s more than a reasonable possibility, but I know that the Order would never let Potter or Weasley put themselves in the hands of the Dark Lord so easily, not after how close they came to just that only yesterday.”

“When have they _ever_ done what they are told, though?”

Severus lets out a short laugh. “Yes, that’s true. Perhaps he will spare her to an extent if I convince him that Potter and Weasley most definitely won’t be coming to save her.”

I consider this. “I suppose it is worth a try.”

“Speaking of such things, have you thought about what you’re going to do with Miss Granger?”

“I’ve thought of nothing else,” I mutter. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I can hardly admit to him that I thought about her whilst in the bath earlier, can I? Instead I say, “I am still no closer to coming up with any solid idea. Not unless I take her away from the Manor altogether, which will surely raise more questions than it answers.” Oh yes, that would very much be a case of ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’.

Severus’s eyes open wide suddenly and he sits forward in his chair. “You might have something there, Lucius.”

“Excuse me?”

“Taking her away from here is exactly what you must do.”

“You are not serious?” I say, incredulously.

“I am. Keeping her here will eventually jeopardise her safety.”

Of course he’s right. He’s always bloody right. “Exactly _how_ are we supposed to explain that to the Dark Lord?”

He ponders for a moment. “Perhaps I could fabricate a story that Order is currently planning a rescue mission? Potter and Weasley have obviously told them of their friend’s whereabouts.” Severus balances his wand between his thumb and forefinger, concentrating hard. “If they come he risks losing his most important prisoner.”

“But it won’t be Potter and Weasley coming to save her, though?”

“No, we will need to assure him of that. We’ll convince him that the best way to get to Potter is to do nothing to Granger. Just keep her locked up somewhere where no one on the other side will be able to find her will be enough to ground Potter and Weasley. I will notify the Dark Lord on the morrow that we wish to meet with him. Do you think you will be up to that, my friend?”

“Of course,” I reply. But the fact of the matter is that I cannot think of anything worse. Voldemort has always repulsed me, to say the least. When my father first introduced me to him (I believe I was fifteen at the time) I came extremely close to passing out when he removed his hood and revealed his face to me. My father was forced to explain that my reaction was due to the fact that my mother’s death, mere months before, had marred my psyche somewhat and weakened my disposition. But how could a teenage boy not be terrified by his snake-like slits for eyes, skin so pale and fragile that the veins beneath were visible and you could see them pulse with each heartbeat, and the faint smell of decay that wafted into the air as he removed his outer robe.

But to put my entire revulsion of Voldemort down to his physical appearance wouldn’t be giving you the full picture. His ideals are no less savoury. He once told me of what he would allow to happen to the all the Muggles when he _rules the world_ , so to speak. So awful and grotesque was this particular objective that I had to excuse myself from the dinner table in order to vomit up my beef wellington and red wine in the nearest restroom.

_That_ was certainly not what I signed up for.

Severus turns away from me, taking careful strides back towards the Floo. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he turns to me again. “There is one thing you haven’t considered, Lucius.”

“What’s that?”

“Can you protect the girl from yourself?”

With those words he throws the powder into the Floo and vanishes into the bright green flames.

As the flames die down, I realise that my heart is beating harder than it was before.

_Protect her from myself?_

What the _hell_ does he mean by that?

 

* * *

Miss Granger’s appearance is drastically different from when I left her last night. She appears to have bathed and washed her hair, for although her locks remain curly, they are in better form than the bird’s nest I remember from yesterday.

The gashes on her face have healed almost completely; fine pinkish lines in their place. Ah yes, I left her a pot of healing balm also. Thank goodness. She is much less a sight for sore eyes now.

Although the balm has worked wonders to conceal the cuts and bruises of her face, it appears that it did not work so well on Bellatrix’s handiwork on Miss Granger’s forearm. Now that I think about it, I do seem to recall Bellatrix wittering on about placing a curse upon that knife.

_Oh Bella, cursing your knife so that the wounds it leaves behind do not heal with magic… You are a nastier piece of work than I recall._

Miss Granger has likely worked that one out for herself already as she has carefully wrapped a piece of bedsheet around her arm as a makeshift bandage. My eyebrows rise slightly; I am impressed by her resourcefulness.

She’s not wearing those filthy, Muggle clothes any longer. She now prances around in what is essentially an oversized pillow case. It’s not quite the attire of a house elf but it’s not far from it. It is a simple white dress – gown, if you prefer – with no shape or style. It is completely unbecoming on her and I must stifle a laugh. She looks rather comical. It’s modest, virginal almost.

Well, not quite virginal, because the neckline is… shall we say, _plunging_. If she leans forward an inch or two too far, I can almost see the swell of her breasts.

It is not what I intended but alas, my manly instincts get the better of me and my greedy eyes soak up the sight for a moment or two before I realise exactly what I am doing. I can’t help but wonder if this is what my mind would have concocted during my bath, had I allowed myself to continue to relish in that fantasy?

_Well, well, well, Hermione Granger, this is rather unexpected…_

“Mr Malfoy?” Her timid voice snaps me out of my somewhat sensuous thoughts, she tugs upwards on the neckline and there’s a pretty pink blush on her cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago. It would appear that I have been caught red handed.

And I do not care one bit.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” I can’t help the smirk that goes alongside my words.

“I have been thinking about somethings after you came yesterday…” she begins, a little cautiously, given that I was just staring at her barely concealed breasts. “You said that I have to cooperate with you if I want to stay alive, but there are some things I need _you_ to cooperate with as well. Firstly, if I am to remain here as your prisoner, I would prefer not to sit here uselessly all day. I would very much like to have some books to read. I don’t care which ones, just anything or I’m afraid I’ll find myself going stir crazy.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” I reply.

“Thank you.” The girl looks uneasy as she goes on. “I need to know something else. Yesterday you told me that you wouldn’t hurt me, that you will help me. I need to know that this isn’t just some trick.”

“We are going to be spending much time together from now on, Miss Granger. If you are unable to take my word for it now then I only hope that my actions speak louder than words.”

I let her think on this for a moment. She drops her eyes to the floor but her brows remain creased, as though she is considering every possible meaning of my words. I suppose it is logical for Hermione Granger to not believe a word that comes out of my mouth. Our past encounters haven’t exactly been… amenable.

“The thing I am struggling to believe, Mr Malfoy,” she says, “Is that can a man who has given up on is values really be trusted?”

What?

Given up on my values?

How dare she even go there?

_The little bitch._

I am not quite adult enough at this moment to conceal my rage at that comment. In a second I push her against the wall, bringing my face close to hers. So close that I can feel her warm breath across my cheeks.

“Oh, I wouldn’t quite say that I’ve given up on _all_ of my values…” I drawl in the most murderous manner I can muster. She has all but stopped breathing; her eyes are wide with fear.

Those eyes again, _those damn eyes._

I can feel her small body pressed against my own. I’m not sure why but I push my body further into her, letting her feel me fully against her.

She’s shaking now, and her eyes prickle with unshed tears. Does she think me capable of raping her? I am very much against such a deplorable act, but the threat of it is one that I was always found worked greatly in my favour.

I glare down at her with a hatred I almost forgot I was capable of. “You would do well not to try my patience, Miss Granger. I may detest killing, but I am not above teaching you a lesson in where you stand against me. Do not ever speak to me like that again. Do you understand?”

She nods.

I let go of her.

She stumbles, wipes her eyes quickly; a little fire sparks in those muddy eyes. I confess I am surprised she’s not erupted into a fit of tears. Instead she squares her shoulders and looks at me with a braveness I’ve not seen in a Mudblood before. Dare I say she almost looks strong? But I’m sure it’s only her Gryffindor front making her appear stronger and braver than she actually is. 

It’s almost as though she’s waiting for an apology from me.

I step back into the room, distancing myself from the young girl in the oversized dress.

“Now, Miss Granger. There is something that I need you to do for me.”

 

* * *

I clutch the girl’s handwritten message in my hand. It proved somewhat difficult to get her to write it after our… _altercation_ beforehand. In the end, however, she gave up the pretence that she actually had a choice in the matter and wrote it.

I catch a glimpse of her neat script; _Dear Harry and Ron,_ it reads. _I am sorry from the bottom of my heart…_ Blah, blah…

Ugh, how utterly pathetic and endearing her words are! I fold the parchment in half and seal it in the envelope with the vial of a memory that shows them she’s quite safe. Not her most recent memory that involves me pushing her to the wall and threatening her, of course. No, I think we’ll keep that between us for now.

Malfoy’s have, despite our superior upbringing, always had severe tempers. I saw it in my father, I see it in Draco. And, of course, I have it in me. Whilst I have prided myself on controlling it more efficiently than my father, of course, there are times when it still creeps up on me unaware. You don’t have to look past my, ahem… _altercation_ with Arthur Weasley in _Flourish and Blotts_ to realise that it doesn’t take much to bring out the worst in me.

Recently though, I’ve found it has lessened somewhat. I can’t decide whether or not this is because of my time in Azkaban or that I am much less willing to draw attention to myself at this point. Most would say I am cowardly in manner at this point, and to be honest, I would agree with them. What’s the point in acting superior these days when, quite frankly, I have been shat upon by the Death Eater cause I once idealised.

Miss Granger, however, is another matter entirely. She, with her Gryffindorish attitude, lack of respect, and knowledge that she has no right to know, bought out the very worst in me this evening. I have not been enraged like that for a good while. Did I overreact? Indeed. I’m not sure I quite meant to take it out on her in the way I did. I was unprepared though. Unprepared for the feelings she evoked in me when she accused me of cowardice.

_Oh, bollocks._ I’ve really fucked up on any pretence of being a ‘changed man’ that she may have started to believe.

Do I really care what she thinks of me though? I’d given up caring about what my Master or colleagues think of me a long time ago. Well, one is hardly looked at in great expectations after pissing oneself in front of them.

I select my most efficient owl, Horace, to ensure this letter arrives safely in the hands of Potter and Weasley. He takes the letter I offer to him in his beak and takes off, disappearing from view into the dead darkness of the night.

She is so far beneath me that I shouldn’t even have given a single damn what she said! It should have gone in one ear and out the other. Instead I pushed her against the wall and threatened her with… I don’t even know what.

_“We are going to be spending much time together from now on, Miss Granger. If you are unable to take my word for it now then I only hope that my actions speak louder than words.”_

That’s what I told her only seconds before I had her against the wall. Bloody hell, I am a walking, talking hypocrite!

I return to my bedroom, remove my outer clothes and collapse on the bed, half out of exhaustion, and half out of regret. Sleep will come torturously slow tonight.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Lucius meet with the Dark Lord to discuss their plan and in attempting to help Hermione, Lucius accidentally puts her in further danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to post this next chapter! Life has been a bit crazy recently (in a good way!). I hope you enjoy this next addition to the story :)

* * *

I honestly once believed that by the time I reached my current age, the Dark Lord, as he was once less crumbly and marginally more mentally stable than he is at present, would have already conquered the world and I would be free to live out the rest of my days in sweet, unspoiled comfort.

I actually believed that a world in which Voldemort ruled would be rather like it is now – or was in the thirteen cherished years _after_ my Lord disappeared off the face of the Earth – except that Mudbloods and Muggles would be virtually unheard of throughout the entire Wizarding World, and that the purity of blood would once again rise in significance.

I was blissfully unaware that at the age of forty three I, and the rest of the Wizarding World, would continue to live in fearful ambiguity and that Pureblood would count for less everywhere.

These days, however, I just wish that the Dark Lord would hurry up and die so that I can get on with living.

My seventeen year old self would never believe that this is how I would come to see things. So easily wooed over was I to the cause of Blood Purity that I was certain that I would be killed for even daring to think such blasphemy. My Father would bloody well disown me if he was still alive now. Alas, my Father was a Death Eater in the days where it was considered glamourous, and I, too, relished in my early days when Death Eating was all I lived and breathed. I ate up everything the Dark Lord threw at me, desperately hungry for honour and glory.  

Not the killing, of course. You are aware, by now, that I do not take any pleasure in such a… _messy_ pastime. And I’m not partial to a spot of torturing either. I believe that a good old-fashioned blackmailing tends to work just as well.

There are many things I begrudge the Dark Lord for.

Right now, however, at the top of the list is the fact that he is the reason I am currently up at a ridiculously early hour of morning. It remains dark outside, not even a snippet of dusk on the horizon, and I am finding it impossible to shake off the weariness of sleep that is engulfing my entire being. It was practically beaten into me as a child that Malfoy’s do not wallow around in bed, but I’ve had my reasons not to be up at the crack of dawn recently.

Now that one is not Death Eating much, there are very few reasons to rise at such unruly hours.

A meeting with Voldemort is one such occasion, however.

Severus and I walk towards the part of my Manor where he currently resides. There is a fire fuelled by dread and tumult in the pit of my stomach as I consider the many twists and turns this encounter may take.

If he does not agree to allow me to take the Mudblood away then she is as good as dead.

And I would prefer not to have her death on my hands. Not necessarily because I despise killing, but because I cannot bear to have Potter and Weasley at my throat for the rest of my life. No doubt they’d hang me from my scrotum as soon as they could for murdering their precious friend.

In fairness, I would not blame them for it. I would do no less to anyone who dared to harm my son.

Severus and I come to stand before the elegantly carved door of my dining room and I find myself suddenly angered by the fact that I have fallen so far down the pecking order that I am forced to share my home with a man who is really no more a man beneath his robes than a house elf is.

The door opens with a slight creak that fades to silence as it swings fully open. Severus walks in before me.

_He_ sits at far end of my antique, rosewood dining table. And the bastard is at my place at said table. In _my_ seat.

Adrenaline combines with my utter hatred of him, making my heart pound in my chest so hard that I feel it could break my ribs. I only wish that it could do so and kill me to save me from having to be in the presence of the Dark Lord.

“Sit, Severus, Lucius…” I do not like the way my name sounds, how the ‘s’ slithers off his tongue as though it actually came from a snake’s mouth. Speaking of snakes, his _pet_ , Nagini, is curled on the floor beside him. But I do not allude myself into believing she sleeps. No, that would be a dangerous assumption to make. She would swallow me whole if the Dark Lord gave her the order.

I have fantasised about my own death several times recently, and I can assure you that slowly suffocating in the digestive fluids of giant snake is not the way I intend to go.

Severus and I both take our seats, several places away from the head of the table.

Seated, I chance a look at _him_. The Dark Lord looks positively cachexic. His skin is so sallow and translucent that I’m certain it would break if the wind so much as blew on it too hard. His eyes; slit like snakes, narrow further as he takes us in. His physical appearance, quite frankly, disgusts me.

He speaks, “I confess I was surprised when I received your owl, Severus,” he says, no, _hisses_. “I was even more surprised when I read that you intended to bring Lucius with you.” He looks at me now. “Lucius, you truly have been a slippery friend as of late.”

I swallow hard in my throat. “My Lord, that is not my intention, I assure you. I have been rather despondent recently, however.”

_My god, I sound like a fool!_

Voldemort does not look impressed. “I assume you are alluding to your depressed state of mind since returning from Azkaban? I imagine that for someone who has everything, to be reduced to nothing is rather… debilitating. And yet, how do you think I felt after returning to this form after thirteen years? Do you think I moped around and did _nothing_?”

I clear my voice before I speak, forming my words carefully. “Clearly, my Lord, your conviction is a lot stronger than mine.” I think he detects my note of sarcasm as his eyes narrow further and I can’t even tell if they are still open.

He dismisses me and looks at Severus now. “You wished to discuss Potter’s Mudblood, I believe?”

“Yes, my Lord.” I let Severus do the talking.

I can usually hold my own against the Dark Lord in terms of his conversations-turn-interrogations but I choose to let my friend do so in hope that Voldemort won’t be quite so pissed off as he would be if I was the one talking.

I am barely listening to the words being spoken right now. Instead, I find myself looking down at the Dark Lord’s _feet_ that are bared beneath the table, and question in my head why the fuck he isn’t wearing any shoes? If I thought his face was ghastly enough then his feet have proven that to be wrong.

I digress once again. Severus has finished discussing our ‘plan’ with our ‘master’ and the Dark Lord is processing his words. His face is stoic.

“So, Severus, you are saying that Potter’s Mudblood is too valuable a prisoner to actually keep as a prisoner?”

“Not exactly, my Lord. Lucius and I believe that by merely keeping her away from Potter will be tantamount to him not being able to accomplish whatever mission he has set out to do. We think that if we take her away from the Manor, it significantly reduces the chances of any of the Order being able to track her down and rescue her.”

The Dark Lord nods his head slowly, such a slight movement that if I wasn’t watching him I wouldn’t notice. “And you have a place in mind?” he asks.

Thankfully, Severus has thought this through more than I had.  “Actually, yes, we do. I have a small holding that belonged to my maternal Grandparents. It is in a discreet location and not known to anyone bar myself at present.”

Voldemort nods again. “Yes… I can see how this would ensure that the Mudblood doesn’t escape our clutch. Very well, I will allow you to take her away from here whenever you see fit to do so.”

Severus and I both mutter our thanks. I can’t quite believe that the Dark Lord is letting us do this. Perhaps keeping Hermione Granger safe will be easier than I thought?

I almost stand up to leave but the Dark Lord opens his mouth again. “Lucius, do tell me how the girl fares? I see you have kept her away from the other prisoners. What is your reason for this?”

“I merely prefer to keep my personal belongings to myself.” I smirk.

He laughs. I don’t know if I should laugh with him so instead I do not change my expression. “You always were a selfish man, Lucius, unable to share the glory with others. Do not forget, however, that she does not belong to you alone. She belongs to the Dark Side. So, before you do take her away, I believe that Bellatrix was telling me that she had unfinished business with the Mudblood. I’m sure you will be able to accommodate this request, Lucius?”

_Oh shit. Shit on it._

This time, I’m sure my blood has actually frozen in my veins.

“O-of course, my Lord. Bella is more than welcome to pay her a visit at any time she wishes.”

“Good.”

At that, I bow low then take my leave.

Oh fuck, how am I going to get out of this situation?

* * *

I have participated in my fair share of so called ‘torturing’ many a time. It is a much loved past time of the average Death Eater. The Imperius Curse is of far greater value, in my humble opinion, and one that yields more reliable answers than torture. Nonetheless, Death Eating is as much about keeping up appearances as it is anything else, so I have, on occasion, dabbled in torture.

I would rather not dwell on that at present, however.

Not when I know that shortly Hermione Granger is likely to be tortured to within an inch of her life by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.

And there is nothing I can do to prevent it.

The man who is supposed to be protecting her cannot prevent this.

I am standing in the doorway to the room the Mudblood currently resides in. At this moment, she is unaware of both my presence and the danger that awaits her. Presently, she is humming a tune (unknown to me) with a gracefulness I never knew someone of her lineage could possess. Then again, I don’t suppose that I’ve ever been open minded enough to look beyond the blood of such a person.

She’s sad and uncertain. I can tell that much from her stiff posture – she’s lying on the rug by the fire, her back to me.

Suddenly, I take such a large step into the room I feel as though I must have leapt through the doorway, and then I slam the door shut behind me.

The girl jumps up from her position on the floor, and turns to face me from across the room.

I slowly make my way over to the bed – _her_ bed – and sit down upon it. She has even made it.

We merely stare each at other from across the room. She looks sad and rather empty. I feel a small amount of guilt to know that I’m likely the reason why she looks this way. And then I feel even guiltier as I realise that soon Bellatrix will arrive and no doubt the girl will look even more sad and empty when she’s finished.

She’s still wearing the same dress as before. I notice that she has knotted it at the neck so that it covers her cleavage much more than before. I also can’t help but notice how her bruises have all but gone. But soon others will replace them…

I clear my throat before I speak, resting my arms

“Miss Granger, I-I,” I can’t get the words out, I sound like an invalid. I clear my throat once more and try again. “I wish to offer an apology for my behaviour last night.”

“I accept your apology, Mr Malfoy.”

Yes, but – wait, what? She accepts my apology?

“Why?” I ask.

Now she’s moving towards me. The movement circulates the air in the room a little, and I feel the heat of the fire briefly across my face. Hermione Granger sits down on the bed next to me. Quite close, we dip slightly towards each other, the mattress sagging a little. She holds her hands on her lap, looking down at them as she speaks.

“I’ve had all day to think about what happened yesterday. Well, not just yesterday. I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened since I’ve been here. I know it’s only been a couple of days but I know that if you truly were the Death Eater that I remember from the Department of Mysteries, you would have done worse to me by now.” She looks up at me. “I saw the look on your face when Bellatrix was torturing me. That wasn’t a look of someone who was enjoying what they were watching. You looked broken and vulnerable.”

I merely raise my eyebrows up briefly and back down again in acknowledgement. I am speechless. I honestly don’t know what to say to that. I suppose I should tell her she’s stupid to trust me because soon Bella will be coming and she probably will never trust me again.

Nausea creeps into my stomach at the thought.

She seems to notice the change in my demeanour. Draco did always tell me she was clever. Miss Granger’s brows furrow. “I-is there something wrong? Has something happened?” I can hear the panic in her voice.

_Not yet, Miss Granger…_

“The Dark Lord has permitted that you and I leave my Manor in order to reduce the chance of the Order coming to find you. You are an extremely valuable hostage, one that he doesn’t want to let slip of. Essentially, Miss Granger, the two of us are going into hiding.”

She swallows hard. “Oh. Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but that doesn’t sound too terrible. I think I’d rather be away from all the other Death Eaters, even if that does leave me with you…”

Sucking in a deep breath, I say, “I can see why they call you bright, Miss Granger. Quite right, it means you are away from others who would do you greater harm than I. it seems, however, that in gaining the Dark Lord’s trust and support to move you away from here, I have put you in greater danger.”

“How?”

I sigh and my entire body seems to slump slightly. “Someone wishes to pay you a visit before we leave.”

She looks very confused for several seconds before she works out just who I am referring to. She sucks in a breath. “I see.”

And for a moment I think to myself that she is taking this rather well but now there are tears pricking at her eyes. “Please, no! I don’t want that crazy woman anywhere near me!”

“Miss Granger, calm down, ple-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I have every right to react like this! You saw what she did to me yesterday!” As if I could have possibly forgotten, she pulls away the makeshift bandage on her forearm and reveals the marred skin beneath. The wound still oozes in places. She winces, whether in pain from the wound or the idea that Bella will likely do the same elsewhere on her body; I’m not quite sure. She is crying now, tears slide silently down her flushed cheeks.

I feel my throat constrict. Why is this display affecting me so?

“You have to help me!” she all but screams.

I reach into the pocket of my robe and pull out two small vials. I hold them out to Miss Granger. “There’s a pain relieving potion and a numbing potion. Taken together they can dull the senses rather a lot.”

I expect her to snatch them from my hands and down them both within seconds, but instead she furrows her brows and looks at me like I am a complete and utter idiot.

“That’s your plan? To _drug_ me! Instead of just standing up to Bellatrix you’re going to drug me and take the easy way out for yourself?”

The easy way out? What the hell is she on about!

“Well, Lucius Malfoy, you can’t do that to me! I don’t want your help if this is what it is!”

She attempts to push the potions out of my hands so that they shatter on the floor but instead I free myself from her pitiful attempt to grip at my hands, and instead take her by the wrists. “I would strongly advise that you take them, Miss Granger.” I say, slowly.

“No!” She says, boldly. “If you can’t come up with another way to put a stop to this then you should have to watch what you’ve let happen.”

“Damn you!” I mutter, under my breath. I let go of her wrist. _Yes, bitch, make me suffer!_ Why must she insist on making me watch this? Has she any idea how I felt the last time round? Perhaps if she knew, she wouldn’t insist on this. I straighten my posture slightly, not wanting to appear weak in front of her. In clipped tones, I speak once more. “Very well. If you so insist on this that you don’t want anything to relieve the pain now then do not think that I will be extending the offer afterwards.”

_Yes, you think that, Lucius…_

“Fine!”

We glare at each other.

And then –

A noise outside of the room.

The girl and I both swing our heads in the direction of the door just in time to see hear the whisper of “ _Alohomora_ …” and the door handle begins to turn…

_Oh shit._

Miss Granger turns to look at me again. Her eyes plead with me one last time.

I can’t do anything to stop this, can’t she see that!

The door bangs open.

_Shit fuck._

Bellatrix stands before us both; hands pressed either side of the doorway, with that wicked smirk of hers tugging at her lips. Her hair is wild as always, and she’s still wearing the same clothes that she wore days before. She reeks of insanity. The main difference between Bella and I is that she enjoys her duty, to such an extent that the unusual, eccentric qualities she had prior to becoming a Death Eater have now evolved into a mania that eats away at any semblance of the (semi) normal woman she once was.

“Well, well, well…” she says darkly, her eyes landing on their target; Miss Granger. I’m sure I can see Bella’s light up when she takes in the Mudblood’s vulnerability. Her smirk becomes a full on expression of madness. It would appear that she intends to play with her food tonight.

_Well that’s just great._

Bellatrix Lestrange steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She acknowledges me, taking in my slightly less than dishevelled look. “Well Lucius, it’s good to see that you’ve sorted yourself out somewhat. Cissy will be pleased. Or I’m sure she would be, had you bothered to see her instead of spending time with your new pet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I spit.

“Don’t think you can fool me. Cissy and I do talk, you know! She’s told me all about how distant you two have grown apart.”

I stand on the spot, incredulously. The crazy bitch isn’t exactly wrong about that. Narcissa and I have grown apart, and these last few month it has become clearer than ever that there’s not much left between us to salvage.

Meanwhile, Miss Granger is stock-still, nearly between Bella and I. She herself is looking somewhat confused right now.

Bella speaks again, in a mocking childish voice. “Poor, poor Lucius Malfoy… Oh dear. You’ve lost your pride, dignity and social standing. And where does that leave you now? Running off with your little pet! I can only imagine what you’ve been up to with _her_!”

The first thing that I think of is how does she know that I’m leaving with Miss Granger? But it seems obvious that the Dark Lord would have told his right-hand woman about this. The second is; what the fuck is this crazy bitch on?

Miss Granger looks sheepish right now. I can’t say I blame her. 

And myself? Well, I am furious that Bella would insinuate such a thing. My cheeks flush in rage and I grip onto my wand that’s hidden inside the pocket of my robe.

“Now, you listen to me, dear sister in law.” I spit those last words out as though they are poison in my mouth. And she is poison. “You may think whatever you like about me, but I assure you, you are wrong in every single way. I am taking her away from my Manor so that should her precious fellow Order members come to try and rescue her, they will not find her. The Dark Lord put her in my care, and it wouldn’t do very well to have his most prized prisoner slip through his fingers. That is the reason. Not any of the sordid reasons you, and possibly even my wife, have concocted. Now, I believe you came her for a reason other than to insult me.”

She spins on her heels, dark swirls of hair flying around her face. “Ah, yes!” She faces Miss Granger. “We’re going to have lots of fun, little Mudblood!”

_Oh god…_

The Mudblood looks at me, a mixture of hatred, betrayal, fear and anger beaming at me.

_Don’t you look at me like that, you bitch…_

Bella has noticed. “Why are you looking at him? Do you think he’s going to protect you, you little slut? He can’t even protect himself anymore, my dear. Let alone you.”

I half expect Miss Granger to agree with my sister in law but instead she stands up to Bellatrix and says, “You’re wrong.”

Oh God, why did she say that?

“What? You think he would really go out of his way to help a Mudblood?”

 “You uppity little bitch. I’m going to have so much fun carving something into that other arm of yours!”

But before there’s time for that Bellatrix screams aloud “Crucio!” and the girl screams and collapses to the ground, clutching at her face. Her face that is a distortion of real pain and suffering right now.

I try to drown out the sound of her screams by tensing my face but it doesn’t help.

Besides, this is exactly what the girl wanted, to make me watch and suffer.

Bellatrix deepens the curse with a flick of her wand and the girl isn’t screaming anymore.

No, it’s worse now. She is practically howling.

Merlin, but when will this end?

A loud noise – Bellatrix has kicked the girl in the ribs.

"You filthy little bitch!"

A slap this time.

“How dare you think you can come into this world and act as if you belong here!”

_Slap._

"You are an ugly abomination!”

_Slap_

_Slap_

_Slap_

I've lost count of how many times Bella has hit the girl.

In the turmoil of everything I find myself unable to stand this much longer.

Instead of seeing this through the end; an end in which will only result in a bleeding, bruised, snivelling mess of a girl on my floor, I do what I should have the moment Bellatrix waltzed into the room. I put a stop to this.

I pull my wand from my pocket, raise it towards Bellatrix’s back and the curse leaves my mouth before I fully realise what I’m doing…

“ _Stupefy_!”

Bellatrix crumbles to the floor in a heap of dark hair and robes.

And then there is silence.

 * * *


End file.
